Chapter 7 #2
The way she said that word dripped with suggestion. Theo and I widened our eyes at each other.
I lowered my voice. “Affair?”
Eyes still wide, Theo nodded. “Maybe.”
I adjusted my glasses and started searching out every woman in the room. Had Edwin Morris been having an affair with one of them?
“If she doesn’t know, she’s blind,” Jean continued. “It was more than obvious.”
“Look at her. The least she could have done is worn something a little less revealing. It’s a funeral, for goodness’ sake.”
That left little doubt which woman they were gossiping about.
She stood talking with a bald man wearing a suit and black-rimmed glasses.
Dark hair spilled around her shoulders and the neckline of her dress plunged so low, her name tag was affixed to her skin above her ample cleavage.
The hem of her dress rode high on her thighs and she wore the type of stiletto heels that made me wonder how she’d ever be able to walk in them.
I didn’t want to be judgy, but it really wasn’t a funeral dress. Although it was black, it had a shimmer to it. She looked like she was ready to go clubbing.
Why did she seem familiar? In a flash, I remembered. She’d been in Edwin’s painting class. Her named started with an A… Ashley? No. Allison? Amanda? That sounded right. I couldn’t quite see her name tag, but I was pretty sure her name was Amanda.
Theo met my eyes, and we moved from our place near the food, gradually making our way to the stairs. A few people came down, passing us as we went up to the loft.
The low hum of voices seemed even more hushed upstairs. Like the main floor below, the loft had been cleared of most of the usual displays. People stood in small knots, some with food or beverages, some without.
I spotted Gina Morris talking with a tall man in a black suit.
She wore a long-sleeve black dress and her thick silver hair was styled in a straight bob.
With a twinge of guilt, I remembered what Sean had said about her—that she looked like a skeleton.
I didn’t want to be mean, but he wasn’t wrong.
She wasn’t unattractive, but her large eyes and prominent cheekbones, along with her slender limbs, did give her a slightly lurid beauty.
The man was probably of a similar age, with mostly gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His name tag said Curt Redfern. Gina dabbed beneath her eyes, and Curt reached into his pocket and handed her a tissue.
“That’s Gina, his wife. Well, I guess widow,” I whispered to Theo.
“Do you want to say hello?”
“Kind of, but I’m suddenly feeling very shy. What do I say?”
“Just tell her your name and that you’re sorry for her loss.”
“I have a name tag. Do I have to say my name?”
Theo placed a gentle hand on my back and rubbed a few circles. “Don’t overthink it.”
His touch was calming and pleasant—probably too pleasant. But it gave me the courage to talk to Edwin’s wife.
I took a step, but Theo gripped my elbow softly and maneuvered so he was partially in front of me.
Before I could ask what he was doing, a man wearing a dark gray suit staggered by.
He was probably in his thirties, and I didn’t have to read his name tag to know who he was.
He looked like a younger version of his father.
It was Michael Morris, Edwin and Gina’s son.
“Tim-may,” he said, his voice jarringly loud in the quiet gallery. “Waz up, my man?”
The man he was addressing turned with concern in his expression.
If the staggering gait hadn’t given it away, the volume and slurred speech did—Michael Morris was drunk.
Gina’s lips pinched and she shook her head slightly as she watched her son. The man with her—Curt—put a hand on the small of her back, leaned in, and said something close to her ear. She dabbed the corners of her eyes with the tissue.
Theo moved to my other side, as if to shield me from Michael Morris. Michael had lowered his voice, thankfully, but you never knew what people would do when they were intoxicated. Especially when they’d also suffered a deep loss. I felt sorry for him.
I figured I should offer my condolences to Gina, and then Theo and I should leave. The tension in the gallery was growing thicker by the minute. I had a feeling there was a lot of family drama simmering just beneath the surface.
Theo walked with me, and I gathered my courage as I approached Gina.
She met my eyes and gave me a polite smile. I had a feeling she’d been doing a lot of that. Curt Redfern stood next to her like a sentinel.
“Hi, Mrs. Morris.” I nervously adjusted my glasses. “I’m Penelope Fallbrook. Sorry, that’s on my name tag. You probably don’t remember me, but we met briefly last summer. I was one of your husband’s students. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she said with a small nod.
I opened my mouth and inhaled, although I didn’t have anything else to say. Theo gently took my elbow again, turned me around, and led me toward the stairs.
“Thank goodness you did that,” I said on the exhale. “I was about to start rambling.”
“You did great. I’m sure she appreciates that you came.”
“Can we just stop?” Michael’s drunk voice rose again. “Like he was so great. Didn’t even want me here. Go ahead, Mom. Kick me out. Iss fine.”
Theo and I stepped out of the way as Curt Redfern, his expression grave, grabbed Michael by the arm and led him to the stairs.
Michael laughed as they moved to the lower level. At the bottom, he stumbled, but Curt yanked him upright.
“You all think he was so great,” Michael said. “The bastard cut me off. Cut off his own son. Piece of shit.”
Gina moved to the railing and silently watched her son get dragged out of the gallery, her expression filled with sorrow.
Theo and I made eye contact again, and without a word, headed down the stairs. We needed to get outside. There was a lot to discuss.
We’d just gotten to the bottom of the stairs when a male voice interrupted our escape.
“Excuse me, Penelope Fallbrook?”
It was yet another man in a suit. He had a professional air about him, as if that were his everyday attire.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I’m Jerry Turner, Edwin Morris’s attorney.” He held out his hand.
I clasped it and shook. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Edwin earmarked a number of his paintings that he wished to be gifted to his students in the event of his passing. One of them is for you.”
I touched my chest. “He wanted to give a painting to me?”
“Yes. Your name is on the list. I can give it to you now, or if it’s more convenient, I can take your contact information and make other arrangements.”
I glanced up at the loft, but Gina was no longer at the railing. “Is it okay with Mrs. Morris? All his things must be hers now.”
“She’s happy to respect her husband’s wishes.”
“What a lovely gift. Sorry, I’m just very touched.” I brushed my hair off my forehead and glanced at Theo. He nodded. “I can take it now. That would be fine.”
“Wonderful. This way.”
We followed Jerry to the back of the gallery and through the door that led to the large classroom workspace. The walls were exposed brick, and it was cluttered with paintings on easels—the pieces that had been moved to make space for the gathering.
A chill hung in the air, and I crossed my arms while Jerry sorted through a stack of framed canvases leaning against the wall. He took one out of the middle and held it up.
It wasn’t very large, maybe eighteen by twenty-four, with a simple wood frame. A creek meandered across the landscape, and a big rock formation rose on one side. Mountains loomed in the background and trees blazed with fall color, their cheerful tones a stark contrast to the cloudy sky.
“It’s beautiful,” I said as he handed it to me. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for coming.”
Theo offered to carry the painting, so I handed it to him. We went back through the gallery, and it was a relief when we stepped outside. I didn’t want it to look like we’d stolen something.
We paused on the sidewalk and looked at each other open-mouthed. There was so much tea, we didn’t know where to begin.